Sauron's Throne
by biggstrek
Summary: A silly look at the inner workings of Sauron's mind. Hopefully you'll get a chuckle out of it. Small, but funny chapters. Go on, Read, Review and Enjoy!
1. The Throne

The dark lord Sauron sat upon his throne, brooding over his misfortune at the hands of Men, Elves and those pesky little Dwarves. An old copy of the _Orc Quarterly_ lay forgotten on his lap.

_How can I ensnare them?_ he wondered to himself. _I know! I'll send them a gift, make it enticing to them, maybe even giving them some sort of power! Yes, yes, they'll love that._ He chuckled to himself as he thought, _And within that gift, I'll leave a back door. One that I can hack into at any time, and take control of them! Sheer genius, Sauron! Night school is really paying off!_

_But what form should this gift take?_ He sat for a few moments, paging through the _Orc Quarterly_, not really reading it. _So many damn Ads in this thing these days,_ he thought_. No good articles anymore._ But he stopped paging when he came across a full page advertisement from _Gruck's Gold and Jewels_. _That was it!_, he thought. _Jewellery! No-one can resist jewellery!_

He smiled to himself as he pondered what kind of jewellery it should be. _Maybe a nice necklace? How about arm-bands? Bangles? Tiaras? No, no, that's just silly._

"I've got it!" he said aloud, his voice echoing about the empty chamber. "Toe-rings!"

But he hesitated. Something didn't quite ring true. _'Ring true'_, he thought, laughing at his own joke. _No, Toe-rings isn't quite right. Perhaps if I remove the 'toe' from that..._

He leapt up from his throne, realizing he was on a winner.

_All I need now is a good poem. Something catchy that'll keep 'em guessing for centuries..._

He went to his desk and started writing in large, bold letters, the ink of his quill etching into the thick paper he liked to use. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth, as he smiled to himself, scribbling. Occasionally his lips would move as he re-read the passages to himself.

But a dark, disturbing odour permeated the chamber, distracting him from his evil purpose. _Oh damn_, he thought, _I forgot to flush_. And he rushed over to his throne, pulling the chain dangling overhead. Sauron watched the bubbling water swirl down, his mind lost in the spectacle and his current task forgotten.

Over on his desk, the parchment read, _"One Earring to Rule Them All, One Earring to Find Them..."_


	2. Intervention

Sauron yelled into the phone, "What do you mean it'll blow out the budget? I can't send them just _one_ earring each. They'll think I'm gay or something!" A muttering from the other end of the phone, offering an alternative, had the Dark Lord rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Okay, okay, I _suppose_... But no-one better think we're engaged or anything!"

"_Rings!_" he stage-whispered at the orcs at his feet, his hand over the mouthpiece, "Can you believe it?" He returned his attention back to the phone. "Make sure they're nice. I don't want to see any skulls or dragon heads! I _know_ you guys!"

He slammed the receiver down onto it's cradle in frustration. _Damn accountants!_ he thought to himself.

The orcs stared at their master with confused looks on their ugly faces. They'd seen some weird displays from him before, but this was just down right peculiar. Watching their master talk into his empty hand, then slam the imaginary object down onto some other pretend device was getting too much for them.

Sauron shifted his position on the Dark Throne, scratching his inner thighs and waved to the orcs. "So, what do you boys want?"

The orcs tried not to think of what their master was doing on the throne at the moment. They were the same ones who had installed the strange flushing mechanism, and had a vague understanding of what it was used for. "Great Lord Sauron," implored the lead, yet timid, orc. "We come to, um..."

But Sauron held up his hand, interrupting him. "Now what did we discuss yesterday?" They all looked at each other, embarrassed and unwilling to answer. "Come on, it's not hard," encouraged Sauron.

"Great Lord _Snookums_," started the lead orc again, clearly uncomfortable with the new name, "My men and I are, um, concerned about you."

Snookums blushed, clearly touched. "Oh you guys!" and he started to rise, his pants around his ankles.

The orcs all held up their hands in protest and disgust, "No, no!" they pleaded, "Please don't get up!" And the Dark Lord hesitated, shrugged his shoulders and sat down again. "We are just concerned for your, um, well-being, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled down at them from his throne, a small tear forming in his eye. "Go on, Fluffy, what worries you so?"

Fluffy - once known as Grizlok the Terrible - bared his teeth a little, but suppressed the urge with unorclike strength of will. He continued, "We're performing an _Intervention_." And the other orcs all started nodding their heads in agreement. "You haven't been yourself lately, my Lord, and we need to sit you down and talk you through it." The words felt strange and unusual in his mouth, but Fluffy felt they might be the only ones Snookums would understand.

One of the orcs at the back, clearly not impressed, coughed into his hand, "_Elf,_" which caused a mild chuckle from the others. Fluffy span about, fury in his eyes, drawing his blade. "I'll do you, _Bunny_, if you don't shut up!" And Bunny, the coughing orc, blanched, trying to avoid Fluffy's eyes and didn't say another word.

Fluffy turned back to his lord and master, who was looking down at him with love in his eyes. It almost made the orc vomit. He waved Fluffy to continue.

"We don't feel you've been at your most... _evil_, great lord. Ever since you banged your head on that table..."

"Oh that!" laughed the Dark Lord Snookums, rubbing the lump on his head, "That was a doozie, wasn't it? But don't worry guys, I'm perfectly fine." He reached over and grabbed the discarded _Orc Quarterly_ and started tearing it into long, four inch wide strips. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish here and go check on those rings." He laughed to himself, "_Rings_... they'll never buy it. Oh well..."

The orcs looked at each other, wondering what they could do, but their dark overlord said, "I'll be fine. But thanks for your concern. It's so touching!" and he stood up, bunching one of the strips in one hand.

Fluffy and his gang fled the chamber, groaning in disgust. "So much for your _'intervention'_, Grizlok," said one of the others outside. "What a _human_ idea." As the door closed, Grizlok had his blade out and was swinging.

The Dark Lord smiled. _Those sweet guys_, he thought to himself.

He finished up on the throne and went to his desk. The amended document lay there, fresh from the PR department. He unrolled the parchment and read the first few lines, tsking and chuckling to himself. He grabbed his quill and started to overwrite the first few lines.

"Three rings for the pretty boys and their pointy ears, Seven for the hairy dwarves and their bad breath..."

He continued writing until he was satisfied, then opened the door and jumped outside. _What a lovely day!_ he thought. _I think I'll walk._ With that, the Dark Lord Snookums started skipping his way down to Orodruin, or as he liked to call it, _The Sauna_.

_It really opens up my pores_, he thought.


	3. Dumbo's Demise

The Dark Lord fumed... literally. Smoke and fire actually came jetting out from his nostrils. He was _mad_.

"You _outsourced_ the Rings!?" he screamed incredulously. "You mean to tell me that the Rings won't be made here? That some pointy eared _Elves_," and said that last word with venom, "will make _my_ Rings?"

The lead orc, sweat pouring from his slick, putrid face, nodded imperceptibly to his master, "Yes, Lord Snookums, we found it was cheaper to farm out these projects to low cost, off shore companies..." But he never finished his sentence. The Dark Lord reached a hand towards him, made a twisting motion and, in his best Darth Vader-esque move, crushed the orc's spine without even touching him physically.

"_You_ call me Lord _Sauron_!" he demanded of the floating corpse, still suspended in his invisible grip. "I'm not very happy with you at all." And he dropped the orc to the ground. _I really hate these budgetary cut-backs_, he thought to himself.

All about him in the forging chamber of Orodruin, the orcs and trolls gathered about him gulped in unison. Each wondered if he was the next to suffer the fate of their captain. They desperately didn't want to be there, but each knew better then to attempt to leave their Dark Lord without permission. And so they all stood as silently as possible, many looking at their feet and some staring deliberately at the high ceiling, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Oh bother," said Sauron, "Now I'm in a bad mood." And he stamped his foot, took a deep breath and walked over to the largest troll in the chamber. The smoke and fire in him died out as he wiped his nose on his sleeve and pointed at the troll. "You," he said, gesticulating at the huge green creature, "What's your name?"

The big troll looked to his comrades for support, but they all shuffled slightly away from him, visibly relieved not to be in his shoes. He looked back at his master and said, "Um, er, oh, eck..." but he couldn't form a word.

Sauron rolled his eyes as if to say _'Why me?'_ He then realized his sleeve was on fire, and quickly smothered it, hoping no-one else had noticed. Fortunately, everyone seemed to find the ground or ceiling more interesting. "Never mind, I'll call you _Dumbo_. Come on Dumbo, I need you to help me." And he slapped the troll's arm in a familiar manner, leading him off to the huge forge overlooking a massive lava pit in the centre of the chamber.

_How did he know my name?_ thought Dumbo the troll. But shrugged his massive shoulders and dutifully followed his lord.

Sauron commanded Dumbo, "I've gotta make my Ring today - at least the pencil pushers left me _that_ much -, so you start pumping those bellows there, okay? Then we'll get started." And Dumbo nodded his head in understanding. The Dark lord went about gathering his materials and picking out the best tools, when he realized the troll was still standing there.

Sauron stared at Dumbo, as the troll stood still, staring back at him. "Sometime today would be nice, Dumbo," said Sauron sarcastically. But Dumbo just stood staring back at him, a troll-like ignorance all across his face.

"Oh. My. God." said Sauron in disbelief. "You see those big leathery wing-shaped things with the handles?" and pointed to the bellows the troll was almost leaning against. Dumbo nodded, looking at them. "Well, you grab the handles and you pump them. Up and down. It's pretty simple, you know." And again, Dumbo nodded in agreement. "Good, then hop to it."

And Dumbo leant to one side, lifted his right leg, and began hopping about the chamber.

Sauron slapped his forehead, but said nothing as Dumbo careened about the chamber, a dumb look of joy plastered across his face. The earth shook and small rocks rained from the chamber's ceiling as the huge troll pounded the ground again and again. It wasn't long before Dumbo hopped his way towards the lava pit, and jumped straight into the fiery liquid. The last thing anyone heard from Dumbo the troll was "Weeeee...." _Splat_. One roast troll.

All Sauron could say was, "Good help is _so_ hard to find these days..." And summoned another troll.


	4. Conspiracy!

Grizlok and his fellow orc conspirators, Fungen and Trasher, snuck past the front door of Sauron's Throne Room. A new sign hung from it that read, _"No Admittance Except On Party Business!" _They shook their heads in dismay, and yet the sign strengthened their resolve. They _had_ to do something - _now_! Continuing on, they stealthily entered the kitchen by the back servant's entrance.

The orcs selected their weapons, hefting them in their hands to get familiar with the weight. Satisfied, Grizlok lead them from the kitchen down a dim corridor, towards the Throne Room not far away.

Meanwhile, in that very Throne Room, Sauron lay face down on the stone floor, the various rugs and animal skins pushed aside in a haphazard manner. In front of him lay nineteen rings of various shapes and sizes. They'd arrived this morning and Sauron had been fussing with them ever since. Pushing aside the ones with stones, jewels or elaborate shapes, he kept four or five simple round rings.

Selecting one, he set it on its edge, holding it in that position with one finger. With his other hand, he flicked the ring into a spinning motion. The ring span before him on its edge, tracing lazy circles on the smooth stone surface. It showed no sign of slowing down. Taking another of the symmetrical rings, Sauron set it to spinning in the same manner. Then he did another, then another until all the rings were spinning together on the floor.

On a whim, he grabbed one of the more elaborate rings, and set in motion. To his delight it, too, span happily before him, showing no sign of slowing down. Sauron clapped his hands in glee, and span the remaining rings. Soon all the Rings of Power were spinning a beautiful dance in front of the Dark Lord's rapt face.

He watched on in amazement as the rings cavorted about, zipping in and out about each other, crossing each other's paths but never colliding. Eventually, it become clear that three of the rings – the elven ones - were following the same path, while another seven, fatter rings – the dwarf rings, of course – were following their own path. Even the nine rings for mortal men followed each other. In fact, they seemed to be running around all the other rings, maintaining some sort of barrier. _Interesting_, thought Sauron.

Then Sauron produced the One Ring from his pocket. _What have I got in my pocketses_? he joked with himself. The Ring was warm in his hand as he brought it in front of his face. Looking at it, he saw the thin script traced all about it, glowing with a satisfying heat. _Such a pretty thing_, he thought. _I do love it so. My precious, cutsie little ringy_. He set the ring on its edge as he'd done with the others, and gave it a _flick_.

The One Ring went straight for the Three, smashing into the slowest one, sending it careening off to one side. It was quickly intercepted by the Nine, who took it down and it slid off and stopped not far from the others. The One Ring then hit the remaining two elf rings, with the Nine backing it up. The dwarf rings faired no better when the One attacked them, and with the aid of the Nine, the Seven were quickly dispatched.

Sauron looked on in glee, clapping his hands in applause. "I win!" he cried. He snatched up the One Ring and stood up, doing a little victory dance. Inadvertently, he kicked one of the dwarf rings and it went flying off across the room, sliding under the door to his closet.

"Morgoth's balls!" Sauron cursed and stopped dancing. He picked up the other rings, tossed them on his desk and went over to the closet. The rings landed on the party invitations strewn across the desk, each hand written by Sauron himself. One in particular was duplicated several times, but all the variations were crossed out. Some read _"Dear Galadriel, I would be honoured..."_ or _"Dearest Queen Galadriel, it would be a pleasure if..."_ and another read_, "Hey, hot pants! Why don't you come over and we'll..."_ Obviously the Dark Lord was having trouble with that one.

Sauron approached the closet and opened the door. It was packed full of discarded ski equipment, boxes, magazines and other junk. But no sign of the missing ring. He got on his hands and knees and started rummaging through the shoes on the floor, tossing them out over his head one at a time.

Unseen by the Dark Lord, Grizlok, Fungen and Trasher snuck into the Throne Room from the rear entrance. Trasher started to giggle as they made their way to the Throne. Grizlok elbowed him in the stomach, and he stopped his girlish laughter. They ducked down behind the Throne and waited with baited breath.

In the closet, Sauron pushed aside a hockey stick which struck a shelf above him, shaking loose its contents. He spotted the ring on the floor and said "A-ha! Got you!" and grabbed it just as a bowling bowl rolled silently across the jostled shelf, falling straight down onto the Dark Lord's head in the clichéd tradition of many great cartoons. _Thud!_

Stars crossed in front of his eyes. The jolt carried right through his head, causing a wild pain, but he began to see things clearer. _What have I been doing!?_ he thought to himself. _I am the Dark Lord Of Mordor, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings! I have no time for such games!_ And the evil Dark Lord stormed out of the closet, his stride swift and purposeful.

Depositing the dwarf ring on the desk, he noticed the invitations scattered about the top. Summoning an evil, burning touch, he ran his hand across the papers, incinerating them all. _Enough of this foolishness_, he thought. _All of Middle Earth will be mine, I must plan my dominion. _ With that he strode across the room to his Dark Throne.

He hesitated as he stepped up to it, noticing the hole in the seat and the chain dangling from a water reserve suspended above. _What nonsense is this?_ he wondered angrily. Noticing a lid attached to the seat, he pushed it down and sat upon his Throne and started devising his dark plans. _How hard is it to put the lid down?_

At that very moment, Grizlok stood up behind him, quietly beckoning the others to mimic him. Each raised their weapons and, on a signal from Grizlok, slammed them down upon the Dark Lord's exposed head. Grizlok's frying pan made a loud _ding_ sound on impact, while Fengen's wooden mallet made a dull thud. Trasher's egg whisk was less effective and he shrugged embarrassedly at the others.

The Dark Lord Sauron toppled from his Throne. The conspirators rushed around as he slid down onto the floor, a groan emanating from his slack jawed mouth. Grizlok bent down by his lord and master, looking into his bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry, my Lord, it was the only way could help you," he said.

Looking back at the orc, the Dark Lord Sauron, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, King of the Earth, the Nameless Enemy said, "Et tu, Fluffy?" and promptly fainted.

"Oh shi-i-i-t!" exclaimed the orcs in unison.


	5. Zombie Love Stories

_Their tongues darted between them, hot moist and wanton. The hero's hands roamed all over the damsel's body, his desire raging. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Pressing herself against him, she felt his throbbing love pressing against her. "Take me now!" she moaned. He obliged by picking her up bodily and lovingly tossed her onto the nearby bed. Something cracked, but it didn't dampen their love. _Just a bone,_ she thought._

_The hero leapt onto the damsel, making a loud splat as he landed on her. Something oozed out from his side. Ignoring the ooze, he quickly started tearing at the remains of her clothes, ripping them off her in huge handfuls. She arched her back in joy as he peeled away her layers, exposing her flesh. He took one of her hands and lifted it, snapping the wrist accidentally and discarded the extremity with a grin. She laughed in return. "Oh you tease!" she cried._

_He stood up, tore off his shirt and exposed his chest. He then ripped off his chest, exposing his ribcage. The damsel growled in appreciation, the blood and entrails sloshing onto the floor...._

A knocking at the door interrupted the proceedings.

Sauron put down his copy of _Zombie Love Stories_, and called "Yes? Who is it?" He shifted his position in the massive bed in which he lay, recuperating from the attack last week.

The door opened, revealing three sheepish looking orcs: Grizlok, Fungen and Trasher. Grizlok spoke, "You summoned us, my lord?"

Sauron slipped the tattered novel under the covers. _Better not let the boys see this!_ he thought.

"Yes, Fluffy. Did you finish the invitations as I ordered?" he asked.

Grizlok looked at the other orcs for confirmation, and answered, "Yes, Lord – Lord Snookums."

"Excellent. And are the preparations in hand? I'd be doing it myself, but," and he looked them sternly in the eyes, "_something_ happened last week, didn't it? And now I'm stuck in bed for the next few days."

The orcs said nothing, but just nodded silently. The punishment for their treason had been a severe talking-to by Sauron. It had lasted a full six hours. Grizlok wished he'd been lashed a thousand times or fed to the werewolves instead, it was that painful. He shuddered at the memory. Sauron had then ordered them to write out all the invitations for his upcoming _Party_. Grizlok's hands still ached from the unusual use.

"And are the invitations being delivered?" inquired Sauron.

"Yes, my lord. We used UPS as you ordered." (That's the _Uruk Postal System_.)

The Dark Lord waved them away. "Very well, get back to it and be sure to wash the _good_ glasses before the party. I can't have Galadriel drinking from a dirty one!" And a strange, distant look crossed his eyes at the thought of her name... _Galadriel_.

When the orcs had gone, Sauron pulled out the dog eared copy of _Zombie Love Stories_, and tried to find his place.

"Mmmm, brains..." moaned the damsel as the hero's skull popped open before her. He gurgled something in reply, but the words were lost in the slopping sounds his brain made as it slid out onto the bed...

_That's just gross_, thought Sauron, tossing the book onto the floor. He settled back into the bed, closed his eyes and tried to find sleep.

But there was no rest for the Dark Lord of Mordor. The phone rang.

He answered it groggily, "Yeah, watcha want?" he asked unprofessionally.

The voice on the other end of the phone said, _"I represent AT&T_ (_that's_ A Troll & another Troll _communications company_), _have you considered switching your long distance carrier?"_

"No. Bugger off," said the Dark Lord. He slammed the phone down. _The sooner I get one of them new fangled _Palantirs_, the better_, he thought. _No more tele-marketers!_

The phone rang again. He picked up the receiver, and the same voice from before said, _"I really think you should consider our offer. We can connect you for a small, one-time fee of..."_ But Sauron simply hung up before he could finished his sales speech.

_This is starting to get annoying_, he thought.

The phone rang _again_. Sauron lifted the receiver and said, "If that's you again, so help me I'll see you dangling over the lava pits of Orodruin before the day is through!"

The voice said, _"Maybe I can tempt you with free long distance?"_

But Sauron wasn't interested. He leant over to his bedside table, picked up the One Ring sitting there, and slipped it on his finger. With a little concentration, he summoned the new powers it gave him, and he sent them forth.

On the other end of the phone, a girlish shriek could be heard, and in the background the plop, plop, plop, of lava bubbles popping.

Sauron hung up the phone and went to sleep. It didn't ring again.


	6. The Party

"Have my guests arrived?" inquired Sauron.

Grizlok nodded, "Yes, My Lord. The last of them has just entered the dungeon - " A scolding look from Sauron changed Grizlok's words, "I mean the newly refurbished underground _Dance Hall_, just a few moments ago."

"Excellent," said Sauron, rubbing his hands together like some evil character out of a cartoon show. "I can hardly wait to meet them!" He paused a second and asked, "Did Lady Galadriel arrive?"

The orc looked at his master and said again, "_All_ the guests have arrived, Master. Even Galadriel." _That bi-atch witch queen_, he added to himself.

"Don't get sassy with me, Fluffy. You're still in my bad books, remember."

Grizlok winced a little and thought, _What are you going to do? Turn me into a frog?_ But he knew better than to say anything. With his Lord's new powers, heightened by the One Ring and combined with his new _'outlook'_ on life, you could never be sure what Sauron would do!

"Let's go then," commanded Sauron. And he walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the Dance Hall, freshly painted and recarpeted, the old torture devices converted into coat racks, tables and chairs. Grizlok followed closely behind.

Sauron surveyed the party in progress. His guests were spread about the Dance Hall. Three elves stood alone at the rear of the Hall. Sauron swallowed as he caught sight of Galadriel and averted his eyes bashfully. Nine men, standing in the centre of the room, all saluted when he entered. He waved at them politely. Closest to the Dark Lord were seven short, hairy and very smelly dwarves.

He approached the seven, summoning Grizlok to follow and beckoned the orc to introduce them.

Grizlok scowled, but complied dutifully. "My Lord Snookums, may I introduce, um, er" and he consulted a scrap of dirty paper he pulled from his under his arm, "May I introduce Lords Dopey, Grumpy, Doc, Happy, Bashful, Sneezy and Sleepy."

"What?!?" cried Sauron. "_These_ are the seven Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone?"

Grizlok looked at his list for confirmation. "Yes, my Lord. Fungen wrote out the dwarf invitations. From memory he got the names from a book he found on your desk." The orc scratched his ugly head a moment and continued, "I remember him asking me if we should invite someone called 'Snow White' as well, but I told him only the dwarves And here they are!"

"Hi ho!" said one.

"Oh, shut up," said Sauron. He paused a moment and said, "Why don't you take a seat?" and pointed at a recently renovated Iron Maiden Foot Stool, complete with rusty spikes covered in a thin polyester. "You others might find The Rack Sofa comfy, too."

With that, he approached the nine men. Sounds of _ouch, ouch, OUCH_ could be heard behind him.

"And who are these guys?" he asked impatiently, gesturing at the nine.

Grizlok flipped the page over and read down the list, his lips moving silently as he did so. He paused, re-read the list, looked up at his Lord, back at the list. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his face. Eventually he spoke nervously, "My Lord, Trasher made out the invitations for the nine men," he offered in explanation. Sauron waved him to continue. Grizlok coughed and said, "This would be Lord Kenneth." A man close by nodded. "And _this_ would be Lord Kenneth." Another man nodded. "To your right is... Lord Kenneth. And to his left is another Lord Kenneth..."

Sauron grabbed the page from Grizlok's hand. He scanned it quickly and said, "They'll _all_ called Kenneth?" In unison, the nine Kenneths nodded in reply and said, "At your service!".

_...and they're 'doomed to die', alright_, thought Sauron to himself.

"Dare I ask what of the Elven-kings?"

Grizlok straightened up a little as he said proudly, "I made those invitations, Lord Snookums. I know you had this _thing_ for Galadriel, so I made sure she was invited. As I didn't know any other elves, I added to her invitation, _'Bring Two Friends!'_"

Sauron rolled his eyes, "And who did she bring?"

Grizlok answered, "Her husband and..."

"_Husband_?!" cried Sauron in disbelief.

The orc checked the list, "I'm afraid so, my Lord." He looked at Sauron and said, "You didn't know she was married?" The Dark Lord nodded mutely. "I'm sorry, My Lord," he said in consolation.

Sauron looked across the room at the three elves, "Please tell me he's not the guy with the big grey beard."

Grizlok shook his head, "No My Lord, her husband's the gay-looking one with the long silver-white hair; the guy in the dress."

Sauron chuckled at the comment. "He does look gay, doesn't he?" Straightening up he turned to leave, ordering, "Give them the Rings. I can have some fun with them later... _in the darkness_."

Sauron left the party, but a small tear of sadness trickled down his cheek.


	7. A Sleepless Night

Sauron lay in bed, tossing and turning. He couldn't sleep. _Damn that Galadriel_, he thought. _Sexy, alluring... and unavailable. Oh well, maybe I can try something else..._

He reached over to his nightstand, pushed aside the discarded magazines and empty plastic cups labelled _'McMorgoth - supersized!', _searching for his Ring. (The First Dark Lord, Morgoth, had created the franchise and was now happily living off the profits in retirement). Finding it, he slipped it on the tip of one finger and pointed it at the palantir sitting inertly on a stand at the foot of his bed. With a press of his finger, the palantir flickered into life and images started to appear on its black, spherical surface.

Sauron scooted up in the bed, put a pillow against the bed-head, leant against it and sighed in relaxation. _Maybe this will distract me and I can get some sleep_, he thought. Watching the images slowly brighten, he saw landscapes, orcs and various monsters slowly drift into and out of view. Pointing the Ring at the mysterious seeing stone, he pressed his thumb on the top edge of the Ring and the image on the palantir changed.

Static appeared across the palantir's surface, to be replaced by a dark, grey image of three overweight dwarves hitting each other over the head with various plumbing tools, followed by the sound of laughter from an invisible audience.

"Bloody repeats," muttered Sauron to no-one in particular and pressed the Ring again.

Images of trolls sitting around a camp fire, discussing the best technique to eat a dwarf, appeared. But cooking shows bored the Dark Lord, so he pressed the Ring once more.

This time five or six orcs in various colourful outfits were seen fussing over another, badly dressed orc. It looked like they were discussing what he'd look best in: pastels or something formal. The unkempt orc didn't seem particularly keen on their opinions and was raising an axe to shown them what he _truly_ thought of their ideas. Sauron chuckled to himself; he liked _'Queer Orc For the Straight Orc'_. But he'd seen this one before and pressed the Ring again.

Next he saw another group of orcs, sitting in a circle, apparently on a desert island. Several flaming torches surround the area. One by one, the orcs would hold up a piece of paper and say, "I want Frellzig to go... he stinks," while another would say, "Bormank must go... he's good, but I see him as tough competition later on. And he stinks." Sauron quickly hit the Ring again. He couldn't stand _'Survivorc.' (I know, I know... groan)_

He flicked through several more images until he finally hit upon one of the 'special' images he received. After all, he was the Dark Lord of Mordor and could afford the full package of channels. This was a direct feed from the other Rings. He swallowed as he realized he was watching images from Galadriel's Ring.

There she was, the woman of his dreams; the subject of his desires... totally oblivious that was watching her. Best still, it looked like she was about to take a bath! Sauron sat up straight in his bed, unable to believe his eyes. Yes, yes... she was taking off her robes! _Oh this is_ good, he thought.

Just as she unhooked the last of her many diaphanous layers, letting it fall gracefully to the forest floor, another elf appeared in the image, blocking Sauron's view. _Damn, it's that Celebum, or whatever his name is_, thought the Dark Lord. All he could see was the elf's back. And worse still, _he_ was taking his clothes off too! _I can't watch this_, thought Sauron sourly, and quickly changed the channel again.

His breathing rapid, he tried to concentrate on the image that appeared. It was of a lovely green piece of countryside. Several men were walking up a gentle grass plain lined with high trees. Each man was dressed in strange tweed patterned clothing. They seemed intent on chasing down a small white ball, although at walking pace. And equally intent on hitting it with metal poles with flat heads that looked like poorly made axes.

_That's more like it_, he thought, something quiet and peaceful. Suddenly he had an idea, turned off the palantir and reach for the phone. Dialling, he waited until finally someone answered.

"Hey Bob, wanna play a round of golf today?" he asked abruptly. A muffled response sounded in the receiver. "No, I don't know what time it is. It's so had to tell in the land _'where the Shadows lie'_... Always looks like it's about 7pm to me" More muffled responses. "Okay, okay, I'll give you a two hole handicap... how does that sound?" This time an affirmative sound came out. "Excellent, see you at the clubhouse." But as Sauron started to put the phone down, a last minute query from the other end paused his movement. "Royal Mordor, of course. We always play there. I'm a member!" And he put the phone down and got out of bed.

As he dressed, he realized he didn't have a caddy (the last was fried to a cinder, actually... Sauron had a temper on the course). _I'll need a new one_, the thought.

"_FLUFFY!!_"


	8. On The Links With Bob

"ROARRR!"

The balrog fumed, his burning ember-like skin glowed redder as his anger increased. The heat from his enormous demonic body caused ripples in the surrounding air, making the giant creature seem more surreal than ever. With a furious movement of one arm, he caused his whip to crack loudly, adding to the echoes of his enraged roar. Smoke billowed from his nostrils and escaped in tiny tendrils from all over his red hot body. His huge tattered wings flapped, adding oxygen to his burning flesh. The heat and smoke increased.

"Chill, Bob. I can't see the flag now," said Sauron, standing patiently to one side of the angry balrog. "And I'm still penalizing you that stroke, no matter how much you complain about it. It clearly states in rulebook that you can_not_ clean your ball until you are on the green."

"ROARRR!"

"Geez, I thought I was bad," muttered Sauron under his breath.

"ROAR?!"

"Oh nothing. I think it's my shot, anyway." With that Sauron approached the small white ball sitting on the grassing field. "Fluffy, what club do you suggest?"

From behind Sauron, Grizlok the over-worked orc, lugging a bag of golf clubs and associated paraphernalia, approached his Dark Lord. He put the bag down, reached in and pulled out a club at random.

Sauron took the proffered club, paused a second and turned back to Grizlok. "Fluffy, I hardly think a putter is the right club, do you?" He bonked Grizlok on the head with the putter and reached in and took out the six iron.

The Dark Lord of Mordor stood over the ball, lined up his shot, wiggled his hips, took a practice swing, checked the wind, repositioned his grip, scratched his arse, wiggled his hips again, lined the shot again, checked the sun's position in the sky, took another practise swing, bent his knees a little more, adjusted his shirt by pulling at the sleeve, wiggled his hips some more, then drew back his club to finally hit the ball...

"cough roar..."

Sauron spun mid-swing and stared at the balrog standing innocently behind him. "Now look what you've done!" he yelled.

"Roar."

"Don't pretend it wasn't you, Bob!" Sauron fumed.

"Roar?"

"Oh really? Okay, we'll get you a drink after we finish this hole." Sauron returned to his stance. Lining up the shot, he wiggled his hips, etc, etc. With an almighty rush, he put his full weight into the swing. His club wrapped halfway around him on the backswing, and came rapidly down towards the ball.

The club hit the turf a good foot behind the ball, making a huge divot that flew up into the air and fell right on top of the untouched ball. Sauron followed through like a professional, almost falling over with the effort.

"Where did it go?! Where did it go?!" he asked anxiously.

"Roar...?"

"No, I didn't see it either," answered Sauron. "Fluffy? Did you see where my ball went?"

Grizlok looked at the freshly dug divot at Sauron's feet where he knew the ball was hidden from view. Casually he stepped forward and stood on the divot, pressing his weight onto the ball underneath.

"I think it went on the... green?" he answered cautiously. He didn't know the first thing about golf, but Grizlok was aware that his Lord was only happy when the ball reached this mysterious 'green'. To Grizlok, the green looked like more neatly trimmed elf-food, just like the elf-food he was standing on right now.

"Oh, excellent!" cried Sauron in joyous abandon. And he passed the six iron back to Grizlok and walked up the hill to the green.

Grizlok and the balrog walked behind. Looking up at the huge beast, Grizlok asked, "So what's your real name?"

"Roar."

"Really? Your actual name is Bob? That's weird. My name's Grizlok." And the orc offered his hand to the balrog.

They shook hands before Grizlok realised what he was doing. The heat he felt in his hand was like nothing he'd felt before. His searing hand sent a jolt of pain through his system.

"SON-OF-A-..!" he screamed in agony.

"Shhhhhhh!" admonished Sauron from ahead of them. "And give me that putter."

Grizlok muffled his screams of pain while the balrog chuckled beside him. "Very funny, Bob." Grizlok found the putter and handed it to Sauron.

"Now, where's my ball again?" asked the Dark Lord.

Regaining his composure, the orc surreptitiously produced a second golf ball from his borrowed tweed pants. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he actually like them. _Oh my god_, thought Grizlok to himself, _what am I thinking?!_

He dropped the ball behind him at the edge of the green, stood to one side and said, "Here it is, Lord Snookums!"

"Roar!?"

"No, no, it was here all along," lied Grizlok.

"ROAR!"

"Bob, Fluffy wouldn't lie. Now stand back and watch the master at work." With that, Sauron approached the ball, putter in hand. He again stood over the ball, lined the shot up, paused, stood back and held the putter up in the air, the ball and hole up lined behind it (no-one in the entire universe knows why golfers do that... ) stood back over the ball and gently tapped it.

The small white ball rolled lazily over the green, heading towards the hole. But it was quite clear it was going to miss the hole by at least six inches. While no-one was looking, Sauron slipped his hand into his pocket, where the One Ring waited within. He stuck a finger into it, and summoned its powers.

The ball suddenly changed course, rolled towards the hole, made a victory lap and plopped in. The orc and balrog looked on in disbelief, but Sauron jumped for joy.

"Yes!" cried the Dark Lord. "A birdie!"

"ROARRR!!!"

"Calm down, Bob. It was a good shot and you know it," said Sauron. But the balrog flew into the air on wings of fire. His clubs fell to the ground beneath him, burning and molten.

"I hope you know you forfeit the game!" yelled Sauron at the diminishing balrog, now a red glowing dot on the dark background of clouds. "Some creatures," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Fluffy, I think we need a drink. Let's head to the nineteenth."

Grizlok nodded, not knowing what the 'nineteenth' was, but glad to leave this weird green elf-food golf course behind. Before he knew it, he felt himself asking, "My Lord, who built this... 'course'?"

Sauron answered, "Oh, this is the Royal and Ancient Golf Course of Mordor, built by the Ent-Wives ages ago. Did you know the Ent-Wives used to just make gardens? Fortunately my predecessor, Morgoth, managed to convince them to turn their skills to the design and construction of sporting facilities..."

As Sauron rambled on and on, Grizlok smacked himself in the face. _Me and my big mouth!_, he thought.


	9. What Happens In Mordor Stays In Mordor!

Sauron woke up with a pounding headache. The last thing he could remember clearly was heading to the nineteenth for a drink after golf. _What in the name of all that is unholy was I drinking last night?_ he wondered to himself. The thought itself was loud in his head and he cringed. _Must. Stop. Thinking. To. Myself_, he thought to himself. _Ouch!_ he thought again.

He tried to open his eyes, only to find they were almost sealed shut with eye-gunk (you know, that stuff you get when you sleep...). With an effort, he managed to open one lid. Fortunately, the room he was in was dark. The bad part was it did him little good as he couldn't tell where he was.

All he knew was that he wasn't in his own bed.

_Where am I?_ he thought. _OUCH! Not so loud!_

Sauron decided to stop thinking.

Reaching up a shaking hand, he felt the covers atop him and pushed them to one side. They were furs of some sort; putrid, flea infested and greasy. The best Mordor quality. With a little effort, he was free of them, and dropped the furs distastefully.

A movement and groan beside him startled the Dark Lord!

_Who's that?_ he wondered to himself quietly, if you can think quietly. _Some lucky strumpet I must have picked up at the bar last night!_ He grinned in the dark. _ She must be exhausted, 'cause I'm_ good! he bragged inwardly. _Better let her rest._ And he quietly slipped out of the bed.

Darkness surrounded him, plus the terrific stench of the bed chamber. It was almost overpowering. He sniffed his armpits. _No, not me! _he thought_. Still, I better have a quick wash._ And he pondered where the bathroom might be.

Taking a guess, he walked straight forward, hoping to find a wall he could feel along. Instead, he collided with a low table and had to suppress a cry of anguish. _My foot_! he thought too loudly to himself. Then, _Ouch! My head!_

On inspiration, he pulled out his Ring, conveniently tucked into his underwear (that's the good thing about being the Lord Of The Rings, you can always find your own Ring! The only way you could loose it was if your finger was cut off. But that could never happen... could it?). He slipped it on a finger, and tapped its side. Suddenly, a small beam of light pierced through the darkness from the Ring. _I knew that'd come in handy one day_, he congratulated himself. Softly. _I _am_ good!_

Sweeping it about the room; the filthy, disgusting room, that is, he spotted a small alcove where a bucket of water stood. The bathroom! Sauron made his way there, placed the Ring on a shelf, turned up the brightness a bit, then proceeded to plunge his hands and face into the bucket.

That was a mistake. It wasn't the bathroom... it was the toilet!

"Yucky!!" he cried, quickly wiping his hands and face on his remaining clothing. "That's GROSS!"

A murmur from the bed distracted him. He'd awakened his partner. "Sorry, baby, didn't mean to disturb you," Sauron whispered quietly to the occupant of the bed. He got a few more murmurs in reply, then he heard the bedclothes and furs fall to the floor, followed by the padding of bare feet across the room.

"I was just trying to clean up, sugarplum, but I couldn't find the bathroom. Where is it, sweetie?" he asked

"That _is_ the bathroom," was the reply.

"Oh..." said Sauron_. And that really_ is _gross_, he thought.

Then it hit him. That voice was familiar. But with his current state of mind he couldn't quite pinpoint it. Worse still, he remembered there were no women in Mordor.... _no women_.

The figure stepped into the light of the Ring and spoke, "Snookums?"

"FLUFFY!" cried Sauron.


	10. Nine For Mortal Kenneths Doomed To Die

"What concerns me and my clients, Lord _Snookums_ - apart from your new name - is the clause in the contract that reads, _'Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,'_ " quoted the tall man sitting at the foot of the table.

"Well, _Kenneth_, I don't think you and your esteemed colleagues have any grounds to complain about names, now do you?" retorted the Dark Lord Sauron. The eight other Kenneths looked at each other, wondering what the problem was with their names. They liked them. "But the passage you have quoted is purely legal gibberish. You need not concern yourselves with it," he tried to dismiss.

The lead Kenneth replied indignantly, "Legal gibberish is my meat and potatoes! I am a lawyer, after all!"

"Ah yes, I heard that about you somewhere. You truly are the most evil of the Kenneths." And Sauron smiled back at Kenneth.

"Well, yes, I admit lawyers have a bad reputation, but to label us all as evil is, well... unfounded." But Sauron just looked at the head Kenneth, waiting him out. Finally Kenneth lowered his eyes and said, "Okay, okay, it's true! We _are_ all evil! And I'm the worst of them all. We just don't like to brag about it." And he sobbed into his hands like a baby.

Sauron rubbed his hands together in glee and continued the negotiations. "Now, as I was saying, the passage you quoted doesn't mean you really are doomed to die, it's just that you are doomed to die _if you stay mortal_. And with the new Rings in your possession, that is hardly the case now, is it?"

Slowly it dawned on the Kenneths what Sauron was offering them and they started nudging the lead Kenneth to agree to the contract and their new positions of power. _Immortality! Woo hoo!_ they thought collectively. He threw up his arms in defeat and muttered, "Amateurs." To Lord Sauron he said, "Very well, Lord Snookums, my colleagues seemed pleased with the contract." With that he signed his name on the first line of a parchment before him and passed it to the Kenneth on his left, who signed it and in turn passed it to the next Kenneth until finally all the Kenneths had put their marks on it.

The signed contract was eventually passed to Sauron, who scanned the signatures, expecting them all to be identical. But to his surprise, he discovered that each Kenneth signed his name in a different style. In fact, only a couple of them could be easily read as 'Kenneth'. He laughed at one, the fifth Kenneth signature, reading it aloud the way it looked on the parchment, "'Laurellie' - what a girly name!"

The Kenneth responsible took offence at the name, saying, "I'm Kenneth, and proud of it!"

Sauron held up his hand, suppressing a laugh and said, "Okay, okay, don't be such a baby. I'll call you Larry instead. How's that?"

Indignant, the Kenneth started to protest, but the other Kenneths were laughing too hard and he couldn't be heard. _Great,_ he thought to himself, _now I'm Larry. Hopefully they'll forget the new name by morning._ (But a millennia later, the name would still haunt him...)

Seeing the distress of his client, the lead Kenneth held up a hand to protest, "Lord Snookums, I must protest... with my hand up, no less!" But Sauron was laughing too hard, having joined in with the other Kenneths. He looked down at the first signature and snot came flying out his nose as he tried to read it.

"'Bitch Queen'?" he tried to say, but the others misheard him and started chanting the new name of the lead Kenneth.

"Witch King, Witch King! Witch King!"

Kenneth the lawyer almost protested, but thought better of it. Witch King wasn't so bad a name... a hell of a lot better than Larry, that's for sure! _Keep your mouth shut, Kenneth_ he thought to himself.

Finally, Sauron held up a hand and quietened down the Kenneths. "One last order of business and we can have some nice sandwiches and coffee."

One of the Kenneth's spoke up - number nine - and asked, "What's 'cough-ee'? It sounds nasty..."

Sauron answered, "It's a little drink I invented. Black, strong and full of caffeine. I think you'll like it." The Kenneth didn't sound convinced, but Sauron didn't really care. He continued, "Here's a little known fact: the name 'Kenneth' in the Mordor dark speech is, in fact, 'Nazgul' - and not 'Nancy Boy' as you may have been told by some of my less educated orcs." Some nods could be seen in response. "I would much prefer to use that name in future. Kenneth just seems too 'goodie'..."


	11. On The Throne Again

Sauron sits on his Throne, reading the newly published works of a man called J.J.R. Tollcoin. A book called 'The Habit' sits on his lap, finished, while he reads a thick copy of 'The Lord Of The Earrings'. Sauron, an avid reader, is half way through. _I knew I should have made them earrings_, he thinks to himself. _This Dark Lord Sourwren guy is kicking those pesky Habit's asses!_

A knock at the door interrupts his reading. Sauron says, "Enter," and puts down the book.

In walks an orc, dour faced and obviously uncomfortable in the Dark Lord's presence. "Lord Sauron, I have those reports for you," he says.

"Thank you, _Grizlok_," answers the Dark Lord, equally uncomfortable. "You can leave them on my desk."

Without answering, the orc places the papers on the desk and turns to leave.

"Wait," says Sauron. "I think we need to talk."

"Yes, Lord Sauron?" answers the orc, turning back.

"Yes indeed. Things have gotten weird between us since _that_ night. Very formal. I don't like it," states Sauron.

A long pause of awkward silence between them fills the empty room. Finally, Grizlok answers.

"I'm not gay," he says.

"What?"

"I'm not gay," he repeats.

"I never said you were," answers Sauron in return.

"Well, after _that_ night, I thought you might think I was gay or something."

"Oh that. Well, that was several chapters ago. I can't even remember what happened," says the Dark Lord. "Do you?"

Grizlok shakes his head, "No."

"Good," says Sauron.

"Good," agrees Grizlok.

More silence follows. Sauron and Grizlok avoid each other's eyes. Finally, Sauron breaks this particular bout of silence.

"I'm not gay either," he says.

"No?" asks Grizlok.

"No!" insists the Dark Lord.

"Phew, what a relief!" admits Grizlok. "I was concerned you wanted to start a relationship of something."

"Hell no," laughs Sauron. "I'm not that kind of Dark Lord..."

They laugh together, the awkwardness dispelled at last.

"Okay, that's good! _Fluffy_, bring those reports over here and let's go through them together," says the Dark Lord.

"With pleasure, Lord _Snookums_," agrees the orc, picking them up and approaching the Throne. Pulling up a small foot stool, he sits and goes through the first list and starts reading. "Apparently orc production is on schedule. The new model is working out well. Even the new warg-skin outfits you designed are proving very popular with the men."

"Excellent," says Sauron.

"And the balrog's handicap has improved by two strokes." A quizzical look from Sauron causes the orc to respond, "He's been at the driving range practising."

"And what of the new recruits?" Sauron asks. "Our Kenneths."

"The Nancy Boys?" asks Grizlok. Sauron chuckles in reply while Grizlok continues, "Well, it seems they bought your 'Nazgul' story. That was a good one!" he laughs. "What the hell does Nazgul mean, anyway?"

"I have no idea," laughs Sauron. "I was trying to think of something nasty to call them, and I thought 'nasty'? 'Nazgul'? Sounds like something from the dark, Black Speech of Mordor to me!"

"Quick thinking!" commends Grizlok.

"Thanks," says Sauron, clapping the orc on the shoulder. "Don't let on that Kenneth really does mean Nancy Boy. They might try to wangle their out of the contract."

"Don't worry, I wont. Me and the other orcs think it's hilarious." And they both laugh out loud for several minutes, leaning on each other to support themselves. Finally they disengage, wiping away the tears of laughter.

As they recover, Grizlok turns to Sauron and says, "I'm not gay."

"Would you stop saying that!" Sauron insists. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he adds.

"No, not at all," responds Grizlok politically correctly.

"You guys are sick," comes a disembodied voice.

Sauron and Grizlok look at each other. Sauron says, "Did you hear that?" Grizlok nods. "Who was it?"

"It's me, the author," responds me, the author.

"Oh, so that's why we're out of character all the time!" realizes Sauron, "Some loser in the real world is writing our dialogue and putting us in weird situations that we'd otherwise never be in!" Grizlok cowers behind Sauron, clearly not understanding.

"Is that the great god Morgoth?" the orc asks timidly.

"No, no, it's just some dude writing a story _during working hours_, when he should be doing what he's _paid_ to do," explains the Dark Lord, giving the disembodied voice a stern look.

The author blushes, replying, "Um, well, yes, you got me there."

"And another thing, _Biggstrek_ - that is your name, isn't it?" The disembodied voice nods in reply - not that anyone can see it, but they can _read_ it, "What's all this _gay_ rubbish all about, anyway?"

"Hey don't look at me, I'm married!" says Biggstrek. "I just write it as I see it, kiddo."

Grizlok suddenly rushes out from behind Sauron, falls to his knees and starts genuflecting to the disembodied voice, "Oh great Dark Lord Biggstrek! How may be serve you, Oh Great One!?"

Sauron rolls his eyes and gives Grizlok a quick kick in the pants. "Stop that genuflecting nonsense. No-one even knows what genuflecting means, anyway."

"You're right there," agrees Biggstrek the author.

Grizlok scurries away, leaving Sauron alone with the voice. They share their own awkward silence together, each with their own thoughts. Eventually, the silence is broken by Sauron.

"I'm not gay," he states.

"Oh. My. God." cries the author. "I'm outa here!"


	12. The Wizard

Grizlok came rushing into the Throne room. Trying to stop, he planted his feet firmly onto the rugs and furs strewn across the floor, but instead went flying across the room. Before he knew it, the orc was cart wheeling out the window and gone.

"What was that?" asked Sauron to himself, looking up.

Moments later, the orc returned and came into the room in a more dignified manner, carefully avoiding any slippery objects on the floor.

"Lord Snookums! A wizard is approaching! We're all dooooomed! Run while you can!" he screamed.

The Dark Lord Sauron put down the last of the Tollcoin books in his collection, 'The Silly Million', and said, "Don't exaggerate, Fluffy. There's only two 'ohs' in 'doomed'."

"Then we're okay?" hoped the orc.

"Oh no, we're doomed alright. I was just correcting your Black Speech." With that, Sauron stood up and stretched, paused a moment longer, then panicked. "A WIZARD! Quick, hide!"

The orc and Dark Lord ran round the room in a whirl, looking for a place to hide. Grizlok grabbed a lamp shade and put it on his head as a disguise. But Sauron grabbed him, saying, "No time for party games, Fluffy. To the closet!" And they ran for the small door to the Throne room's closet.

Shutting the door behind them, Sauron cautioned, "Watch out for bowling balls on the top shelf..." But then a fierce knocking on the outer door was heard. When no-one answered, there came a terrific crash as the door was split asunder. Foot steps soon followed as the wizard entered the Throne room. _Step, step, step, step, sliiiiiiiiip..._ the wizard cart wheeled out the window in Grizlok fashion.

Sauron and Grizlok giggled from within the closet, watching the wizard's antics through the keyhole. Sauron asked, "Which wizard is it, anyway? I could only see his back from here."

The orc answered, "They call him Gandalf, Incánus, Olórin, Tharkûn, Mithrandir..." But Sauron interrupted him.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked.

"No, no, I did my research. Went to Shelob's Website and checked it out," replied Grizlok. _The audience groans_.

Sauron shook his head, "You're worse than me..."

But before the orc could refute the accusation, the wizard re-entered the Throne room, bellowing, "Where are you, foul demon lover of the night?! Show yourself so I smite thee with my staff!"

Sauron opened the closet door, much to the distress of Grizlok, who tried desperately to cover himself in old copies of the _Orc Quarterly_. The Dark Lord stepped into the Throne room, standing straight and tall.

"Here I stand, oh foolish spell weaver and cheap illusionist!" declared Sauron. "Conjurer of worms, you are not fit to entertain a children's party!"

Gandalf turned about dramatically, his grey robes swishing and swirling in perfect unison, a grimace on his face. He reached into his clothing, pulled out a short wooden rod, thumbed the edge of it, causing it to extended into a staff his own height. Gandalf pointed the fancy staff at Sauron and spat, "YOU! You have tied your last balloon animal! Prepare to meet your fate, pervader of nastiness and doer of bad deeds!"

The two would-be combatants approached one another, each making threatening sounds, rumbling their voices and hissing in melodramatic style. Soon they stood face to face, inches apart, each with a snarl on their lips. They stood their, eyeing each other, trying to outstare their opponent. For minute after minute they stared at each other, until finally Sauron had to blink and laugh.

"Gandy!" he cried. "You win!"

"Saury!" replied the wizard, smiling. "I always do!" And the two embraced, hugging each other and laughing.

Grizlok eventually found the courage to peek out of the closet. Seeing the two laughing, he asked, "What the heck is going on here?"

"We're old buddies," replied Sauron. "We went to magic school together. Gandy's my old roomie!"

Grizlok slapped his head. "Great," he mumbled sarcastically to himself. "Another one..."


	13. Gandalf And Sauron Exchange Recipes

"The dream starts off with me in Galadriel's house. You know I have this _thing_ for her, so you can imagine how excited I am to be there. Well, she isn't quite as excited as I am, but neither is she telling me to go away. In fact, she insists that I sit down on her sofa - I guess so we can chat or something.

"I remember my parents being there. That was weird. My dad in particular was unimpressed with my _thing_ for Galadriel, what with my plans for world domination and all, the two wouldn't go well together. That was a bummer. Anyway, I just ignored him, hoping to spend some time with Galadriel alone.

"Then the weirdest thing happens! Suddenly Galadriel is flying us home... to _England_. I know, I know, I don't live in England! Never even heard of it, in fact. But the dream was quite clear: Galadriel was at the controls of her bi-plane - don't ask what that is; some sort of impossible flying machine - and, get this, I'm lying on the fuselage, holding onto the struts for dear life! And strangely enough, both my parents are also on the plane. They're on the wings, I think, both clinging desperately!

"Then I woke up," finished Sauron. "I can still see the English Channel rushing beneath me." He shivered.

Gandalf, sitting opposite Sauron at a table outside the _Cafe Lurgz_, gave Sauron a long, deep look. Finally, after several minutes of staring, he said, "Get therapy. Now. Don't walk. Run."

Sauron laughed, waving his hand in dismissal. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just need to let go, I guess." And Sauron sighed.

"Alright, don't take my advice. See what I care. But let's get back to business, shall we? It was a long walk to Mordor, and I'm just about out of leaf."

Sauron looked up at Gandalf. "Hang on, I thought you quit smoking that stuff?"

Gandalf half smiled in return, "Yeah, well, I found this cool little valley over in the north-west. It has the best weed I've ever smoked! Actually," and with this he lowered his voice to a whisper, "I'm going to get these little furry halfling guys to move there so I can get them to cultivate it for me. Shhhh, don't tell anyone!" he giggled.

Sauron rolled his eyes, saying, "That stuff'll eat your brain, you know. You'll start forgetting things; forget your friends; your enemies..."

"Don't lecture me, you're worse than Saruman," protested Gandalf, who pulled out a pipe and was patting down his cloak, looking for a light.

"Some wizards..." said Sauron. "Here, allow me." And Sauron slipped his Ring on, flicked his finger and a small flame started flickering from his thumb.

Gandalf lit up, saying, "Thanks. Nice trick, by the way. How'd you do it?"

"That's my new Ring!" and Sauron showed him proudly. "Isn't it precious?!"

"Ooooo, pretty! Can I have one?"

Sauron put the Ring away, suddenly becoming secretive and protective. He said, "No, sorry. I'm all out."

Gandalf looked at the Dark Lord and the guilty expression on his face. "I heard about that _party_ you had. Why didn't you invite me?"

"Oh, didn't you get your invitation?" asked Sauron unconvincingly.

"You know damn well I didn't! Just a bunch of men, dwarves and elves went. No semi-immortal wizards!"

"Well, um..."

"AND, I heard there were _gifts_!" fumed the grey wizard. "Rings!!"

Sauron held up his hand again, and said, "Chill, dude. I tell you what, if one of the rings should get 'lost', I'll let you keep it. In fact," and this time it was Sauron's turn to whisper, "I can tell you where an elf ring can be 'found'..."

"Cool," replied Gandalf. "I don't mind sending one of those arrogant elves back to Valar a little early..." And they both laughed evilly.

"Oh, if they only knew your true nature," said Sauron.

"I won't tell them if you won't!" laughed Gandalf.

With that, they both clinked their glasses together and drank a salute to ignorance. After a few more drinks, they eventually got back to business. They fleshed out some minor details - who got what land, that kind of thing - and settled on a plan of action.

"So, we're agreed," said Sauron, "I'll raise an army here in Mordor and go marching out to battle mankind. You just sit tight and let whatever happens, happen. Then it can be your turn next time. You can raise an army to attack Mordor and try and 'conquer' me. How does that sound?"

"Splendid," replied Gandalf.

"Excellent," agreed Sauron. He paused a moment before asking, "This business about my finger being cut off. That's just for show, right? You won't let anyone take my Ring, will you?"

"Oh no, no. Of course not..." But Gandalf's evil smile belied his intentions. He puffed on his pipe, his eyes glazing a little.

_I just can't trust my friends anymore_, thought Sauron.


	14. No Rhyme Or Reason

_Sauron sat upon his Throne,_

_dialing randomly on his phone._

_"Hello, who's there?" a voice did say,_

_"It's me, your Lord! Come on, let's play!"_

_-_

_The orc did yawn and answered slowly,_

_"Surely you jest, the time's unholy."_

_Before another protest sounded,_

_Fluffy found himself suddenly surrounded._

_-_

_"Okay, okay!" And Fluffy raised,_

_"Most excellent!" the Dark Lord praised._

_Shortly then the orc did enter_

_Sauron's room; the epicentre._

_-_

_"What is it, Snookums?" Fluffy asked,_

_But his impatience was not masked._

_"I don't suppose you can make rhyme?"_

_"No, I'd rather eat some slime."_

_-_

_With question answered, the Dark Lord pondered,_

_"I think this chapter is fully squandered."_

_With that the orc could not deny,_

_and looked his master in the eye._

_-_

_"Seek help fast, as Gandalf said,_

_Lest otherwise you end up dead."_

_"Is that a threat?" asked Sauron dryly,_

_"No, not at all!" he answered boldly._

_-_

_Minutes passed with no more speech,_

_when finally the door did screech._

_"What goes on here?" a voice did boom_

_And wizard Gandalf entered the room._

_-_

_"Nothing much," said the Dark Lord,_

_"I was just very much bored."_

_"Well could I please use your Throne?"_

_And on cue his tummy did groan._

_-_

_"Certainly!" He got up with a rush._

_"But whatever you do, remember: flush!"_

_Outside in the hall, orc and master_

_discussed Gandalf's impending disaster._

_-_

_"What did he eat? I cannot conceive."_

_And from behind the door, they heard a heave._

_"That sounds nasty!" said his servant._

_"Yes, indeed!" The reply was fervent._

_-_

_"I'm off to bed," the orc confessed._

_And walked off down the hall, undressed._

_"Yeah, me too," his Lord did say,_

_"And one last time, WE ARE NOT GAY!"_


	15. Sauron's Ring

_Sauron sat upon his Ring,_

_Wishing that he could sing._

_When at last the words did come,_

_Something nasty bit his bum..._

"Oh, no you don't; not again!" cried a voice.

Sauron looked about the empty Throne Room. He saw no-one and rubbed the sore spot on his right butt cheek.

"Hello? Who is it?" he asked nervously. "Gandalf?" But the voice was not Gandalf's. Besides, the wizard had left the day before, complaining about the food.

"It's me, you idiot," said the voice again. "Would you kindly stop with the rhymes already?"

"Who are... Hang on, what's wrong with my rhymes?" Sauron asked, incensed.

"Come on, _Sauron_ - I refuse to call you _Snookums_ - it's all well and good to go prancing about making silly jokes and doing slapstick routines, but when you start doing these stupid poems... Well, it's too much!"

Sauron scratched his head in consternation. "I thought they were clever..." he said with a sigh.

"Nope, not clever. Dumb. Stupid. Infantile," emphasized the voice.

Sauron looked up at the author, "It's you, isn't it?"

_(pause)_

"Hello? Author?" tried Sauron again.

The author stirred. "Oh, sorry. Must have fallen asleep. Um, no, it's not me. But," and the author smiled to himself, "I know who it is!"

"That's a shock," muttered Sauron sarcastically to himself. The other, invisible voice, laughed conspiratorially. Indignant, the author walked off and left Sauron alone with the mysterious voice.

"That guy sucks," said the voice.

Sauron laughed, nodding in agreement. "You're right there. Now, who in Mordor are you?"

"I'm your Ring!" said the Ring (the One Ring, in case there was any doubt).

"My Ring! Of course! How the heck are you?"

"Well, I'm round, golden and full of mischief. And apart from a few elf runes, pretty much unscathed. Thanks for asking."

"...and you don't like my poems," finished Sauron for the Ring.

"Sorry, dude. It's like those books you read recently; the ones by Tollcoin. They were good - I read them _through_ you - but each time he put in a poem, song or rhyme, I just wanted you to turn the page and get on with the story!"

Sauron looked at the Ring on his finger. "You can see through my eyes?" he asked.

"Yep, every little thing," answered the Ring cheerfully.

"Even in the bathroom?" asked Sauron with trepidation.

The Ring smirked in a Ringly fashion, "Even in the bathroom." The Ring paused and finished, "You pervert."

"I thought I was alone!"

"Don't worry, dude. I'm made up of _you_, remember? Anything _you_ do,_ I_ want to do, too!" And the Ring laughed evilly.

Sauron paused a moment. Finally, he built up the courage to ask: "Did you see what happened in Fluffy's room that time? When I woke up with him?"

The Ring answered cautiously, "Yes..."

"And?"

"You don't want to know."

On cue, Grizlok tapped on the door and entered.

_Fluffy dances with a broom,_

_As he sweeps the dirty room!_

_"What a mess," the cool orc said,_

_When something thumps him on the head..._

"Um, Fluffy, we're not doing rhymes any more," Sauron informed him, pleased with his aim.

The orc, rubbing his head, looked at the Dark Lord. "Really? I kinda liked 'em," Grizlok said as he looked at his feet and saw the object that had hit him.

"Hey!" cried the Ring. "Don't touch!" But too late. Grizlok stooped over and picked up the Ring.

_Oh damn_, thought Sauron. _I should have thrown something less valuable_. "Fluffy? May I have my Ring back, please?" he asked hopefully.

But too late. The orc had instinctively slid the Ring onto his ugly, wart covered finger. The Ring obediently changed shape and size to accommodate the orc's bulbous digit.

"Ooooo, aren't you precious!" cooed the orc to the Ring.

"Fluffy? Fluffy. Fluffy! _FLUFFY!_" But Sauron's voice went unnoticed by the orc.

"I'm going to hold you and squeeze you and..." rambled Grizlok to his new prized possession.

Sauron got up from his Throne and stormed across the room to where Grizlok stood. Just as he reached Grizlok, Sauron's foot trod directly onto the head of the discarded broom. The long broom stick came swinging up at a tremendous rate and smacked the Dark Lord square in the middle of the head.

The Dark Lord's eyes glazed over and he toppled backwards onto the floor.

Meanwhile, the broom bounced back off Sauron's head and went equally fast into Grizlok's groin. The orc doubled over with pain and he, too, fell backwards onto the floor, unconscious.

The Ring, suddenly jolted free of the orc, fell to the floor as well, but with a much more dramatic _thud_. "Ouch", it said, and fell silent.

Some time later, the Dark Lord Sauron - Snookums no more - awoke. Summoning the Ring, it leapt from the cold stone floor directly onto his finger. With a swirl, he span about and strode purposefully to his Throne. Power emanated from his very evil presence and he dramatically sat upon the huge, Dark Throne.

Grizlok the orc, awakened by the wickedness in the air - something that had been missing for about fifteen chapters - realized his Dark Lord and Master was back. He jumped to his feet and clicked his heels.

_Oh, what joy! The Dark Lord's back!_

_He's the best, and not a hack!_

_We'll kill elves and dwarves and men,_

_Then come back later and do it again!_

But Grizlok's song was interrupted by a bolt of energy from Sauron's Ring of Power. The orc's burnt remains - nothing but a cloud of ash and a nasty smell - drifted to the floor. With a gesture of his finger, the Dark Lord summoned the forgotten broom to life, and swept poor Grizlok from the room.

_No more Mr Nice Guy_, thought the Dark Lord Sauron.

**- THE END -**

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to those reviewers and appreciators of mayhem and madness (my brand of it, at least!) who read _'Sauron's Throne'_. Especially Shantazzar, whose reviews and encouragement kept this story going well after it should have stopped! hehehe (I reckon I would have quit after chapter 4 or 5, otherwise.)

Time to write something serious!


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